The Day I Killed James

One I'm Sorry I Washed Your Car Maybe I should have been nicer about it. But it was early. It was so damned early. It was daybreak, damn it to hell. And I didn't have to get up for school yet. And that's one of those things it just doesn't pay to rush. I guess I should have been nicer about a lot of things. But that's hindsight. Isn't it? I couldn't just roll over and go back to sleep, because there was water running somewhere. And there shouldn't have been. So I rolled out of bed and put on Randy's red pin-striped shirt. I love that shirt. If we-God forbid-ever break up, he'd better kiss it goodbye. And I went to the window. And there was James in the driveway, washing my car. I opened the window. Thought that would get his attention, but not quite. Usually it was not hard for me. To get James's attention. I waved my arms around. Without raising them too high, because, you know, Randy's shirt only covered just so much. And James was easily encouraged. Pre-encouraged, one might even say. Like one of those computers you buy with the software already installed. He saw me then. Snapped off the hose. Smiled. When James smiled at me, it made me a little bit nervous. When he smiled at me, his face lit up with this look that always made me wonder why being loved is not the joy the poets claim. James or Randy, either one. It's just not what they set us up to expect. He called out good morning to me. "James," I said, trying to be half-assed quiet to keep my father out of it. My father was not so sure about the whole James phenomenon. "Why are you washing my car?" It's really pathetic, what happened to that poor smile. It reminded me of a dog told to play dead. James had this way of making me feel bad. Life has this way of making me feel bad. "Don't you want me to?" he asked. "I'm sorry." How do I answer a question like that? So I just looked up at the sky, which seemed somewhat black and expectant, and I said, "I think maybe it's going to rain." "If it does," James said, "it will be all my fault. Because I washed your car. Do you want me to stop now? I'd at least have to rinse off this soap." I didn't know if I wanted James to wash my car. I'd never really thought about it. It was too early to think about it when I was put on the spot to say. But one thing I did know for sure. I said, "I definitely do not want you to wash my car and then apologize for it." "Right," he said. "Sorry. I mean . . . you know what I mean." I closed the window. My father stuck his head in through my door. The hose sound kicked in again from the driveway. "Who are you talking to?" my father asked. "Why are you making so much noise? You woke me up. Why did you wake me?" "You have to get up now anyway," I said, looking at the clock. "You'll be late for work." He reached for my alarm clock. Knocked it over onto its back. "Aw, crap. Why didn't you wake me?" I said, "I did wake you, Remember? That's what you were just complaining about." See, it even extends to parents. What I said about love. It rained. I can't entirely claim it's because James washed my car, because it rained days later. But it felt satisfying, somehow, to blame this and that on James. I was sitting at the dining room table paying bills. Because somebody had to do it. When I looked out the window it was raining in sheets, and I swore I saw James skate by. Down the driveway toward the garage. It was like a moment of action in bad animation. You know how when they're really hard up for animation dollars they move a static character across a static scene? Like that. His hair was still short from that two-year stint in the Air Force. So the fact of being soaking wet didn't change his look much. He had a hat, but he wasn't wearing it. Just holHyde, Catherine Ryan is the author of 'The Day I Killed James', published 2008 under ISBN 9780375941580 and ISBN 0375941584.